


Two Night Stand

by BlueBerryOatmeal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU Nonsense, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Relationships, Bakery AU, Clubbing, Dating is hard, Derek Hale is a Softie, Everyone's an adult, Fighting and making up, Halloween Themes, Living Hale Family, M/M, Mistaken Identity kind of, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, One Night Stands, Past Relationship(s), Smut, Stiles is stressed out, bad costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBerryOatmeal/pseuds/BlueBerryOatmeal
Summary: Stiles gets dragged out to a club a few days before Halloween when he'd much rather be at home. That is until he meets a certain wolf on the crowded dance floor.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles tried not to slam the phone down after that last work call. 'Tried' being the key word. Because the plastic casing on the blocky corded phone still made quite the noise as it was forced back in its holder.

He could have sworn he enjoyed this holiday. Really, he did. It used to be so much fun for him, back when he was young and the whole thing was about costumes, carving pumpkins and _lots_ of free candy. He and Scott would go around and collects so much candy that they'd be climbing the walls for months. They'd sneak it into their beds at night, to school in their socks and pockets, and would trade with each other for their favourite flavours. Halloween had always been better than Christmas in ways like that. Good food, treats, and getting scared shitless by old horror movies that young impressionable minds thought were real. Any nine-year-old would think 1980 movie make up was scary.

Now Halloween was more or less an excuse for adults to dress up and drink heavily. Seriously, kids these days rarely went out. Stiles was cool with that too. In his early twenties he had always been game for putting on stupid fake ears or press on fangs and drinking his body weight in alcohol. House parties and clubs had always been fun. But that was before, before he graduated college but still only worked at a bakery, before he hit his mid-twenties and started having to pay rent, and bills, and student loans. He couldn't drop a cool hundred in one night of drinking and getting a costume from one of those overpriced pop-up Halloween stores.

Stiles allowed himself a minute to breathe so that he could calm himself down. With a long, deep sigh he left the backroom, hoping the phone would stay silent and not ring for at least five consecutive minutes today. Honestly, he could have sworn he once liked this holiday. It also didn't help that everywhere he looked, there was a reminder of what season it was. It made him cringe.

The little bakery were he worked was brightly decorated in colourful paper leaves, random apple themed displays, and pumpkins – lots of pumpkins. There was nothing scary about any of it, but it was still appropriately dressed up. Stiles' boss loved Halloween so much that the bakery started to celebrate it half way through September. The one thing he couldn't complain about all that, is the he could get cinnamon coffee and their signature apple donuts early into the fall season, instead of having to wait around for October to come.

Being the weekend before Halloween now, he'd already eaten far too many of those too and the smell was starting to make him feel sick.

He was tired of all the Halloween related stuff by this point. He'd love to throw a jack-o-lantern into traffic and burn the copious amounts of fake cob webs strung up around town. Maybe a mass town fire would put an end to the constant string of orders going through the bakery for numerous Halloween parties.

For weeks he'd been taking order after order of pastries, chocolates, tarts, cookies, whatever. Inconvenient last minute changes. Allergy warnings that required expensive substitutions. He was so tired of pumpkin spice everything. Tired of the smell of clove and cinnamon. And he didn't want to see another brownie for the rest of his life. And if he had to argue over the price of mini cakes one more time, he was going to explode. Why did he had to take catering orders and do the deliveries anyway? Oh yeah, Stiles worked at a bakery instead of doing something with his college education. He rubbed his palms together, mentally prepping himself to finish the rest of his shift without telling anyone off or physically harming them.

Defeated, but still mostly pissed off, Stiles grabbed the wide brimmed witch hat he'd tossed on the back counter before taking that last call. It flattened down his hair, leaving his bangs to stick out at weird angles. It was so oversized Stiles felt like a child in the stupid half assed costume. At least his boss wasn't making him wear a full on outfit to go with the hat. But tis the season and all that shit. _Fa-La-La-La-La~_ So, he wore the damn hat and put on a big fake smile.

He moved behind the counter, starting on some fresh coffee grounds. The lunch rush had come and gone, leaving him with a few hours of quiet until he could go home and spent his Friday night curled up with easily reheated frozen food. The radio played softly in the background. The overly catchy tune made Stiles hum absentmindedly. Probably because in a full day of work he'd hear the same ten songs on repeat every hour. They became branded into one's memory. He emptied out the grinder, tapped out the dust, then refilled it with new beans. The smell of hazelnut hit his nose and normally he could groan with satisfaction. Normally it'd make him happy. Today though, everything was pressing on his last nerve.

Beside him, Malia leant on the counter, jaw propped up on her long fingers. Stiles wished she would do her job instead of waiting for him to finish everything for them. He was usually a good slacker too, but this was something else. She was giving him an expression that one could only describe as total indifference. It was annoying to see out of the corner of his eye, the way she sized him up silently. For a long time she stayed that way, watching him. He might have assumed for a second that the level gaze was intentional, but after a quick look in her direction, he corrected himself knowing it was only her resting bitch face.

However, there was something going on in her head that she wasn't sharing. Her lips curled in a little smirk. Stiles let out a frustrated sigh, not wanting to acknowledge her stare but he couldn't fully pretend like she was invisible. He just wanted to finish his shift with the least amount of hassle as possible. Why was that so much to ask? Unfortunately, there was something about the way he was being looked at that really irritated him. It really got under his skin like an itch he needed to scratch. Stiles rolled his eyes, dumping out the freshly ground coffee into its awaiting container. After that he grabbed a coffee filter for the coffee pot. He wanted so badly to ignore Malia but he couldn't take it any longer.

“What?” He snapped, a little more on edge than he meant it to be. She didn't respond with hostility or even much of an attitude, simply blinked and tilted her head to the side.

“What's your problem today? You look like shit,” she asked sounding bored.

Stiles reeled back, mouth hanging open. “Uh, okay, rude.” He shook his head and continued to make the pot of coffee. Beside him, Malia gave a light laugh at his display of frustration. She really was just there to make his job harder, he knew it. “I'd like to see how chill you are after dealing with some of those calls. Angry fucking customers who waited too long for ridiculous orders for cake... Actually no, you'd tell them off.”

“Obviously.”

“You're not allowed near the phone. Or anyone.”

“I'm good with that.” Malia smiled, proud of her terrible customer service skills for some reason. She really should be kept away from the majority of the public. Even on a good day, and not a crazy busy holiday, she still wasn't exactly _polite_ or _friendly_. She was with friends and their regular customers, but that was probably because they'd gotten used to her attitude and could now tell when she was making a cruel joke or sarcastic comment.

Stiles hummed and rolled his eyes again, feeling like that's all he did now – strain his eyes by rolling them around in his head. His fingers impatiently tapped against the counter as the coffee pot began to make a gurgling sound and start to steam from the fresh coffee. In the back of his mind he quickly sorted through everything else he had to do for the rest of his shift, prep, and then what orders needed delivered to whom before he was able to go the hell home later. It was so annoying. He really hated this time of year. Even Christmas wasn't this busy for the bakery. As it was, he had to box up a dozen orders and delivery three. The others were going to be picked up by the time they closed at nine that night. Stiles groaned a little out loud feeling overwhelmed.

The bell above the front door chimed as it was swung open. Stiles was about to glare daggers at the new customer, but thankfully he calmed down seeing who it was. The door closed behind his best friend Scott. The guy gave a welcoming, lopsided smile to both Stiles and Malia as he started walking through the bakery. His sneakers squeaked a little on the tiled flooring. He lazily looked at their menu signs, browsing for something other than his usual.

“Can I get uh....”

“No,” Malia cut in with a snarky tune. It still made Scott laugh. Her sarcastic expression breaks out into an actual smile as she plays around with the headband style cat ears she'd been expected to wear at work but refuse. But she did keep them close by just in case their boss came in to check on them.

“Those are cute,” Scott said, seeing the little costume. “Stiles, coffee. Please?”

“What, her costume is cute and mine isn't?” Stiles still wasn't amused or in a good mood and it showed. He grabbed one of the take away cups and filled it with Scott's regular order of medium roast coffee. It was slid over the counter space towards his friend. “I feel so loved today. First I get yelled at by that one bitchy Hale over the phone, then you ignore my hat.”

“Thank you,” Scott said taking his cup of coffee. “And don't worry, Stiles, you are the cutest witch.”

“Bite me,” Stiles snipped back at him.

“Which Hale?” Malia asked, amused. She probably only found that comment to be funny because she was a cousin of the Hale family. Fun thing about small towns, everyone was either already related or it was just a matter of time.

Stiles waved her off like it was nothing. “I dunno, not, uh, Talia. Not her. One of the kids, I think. I don't really care. Hey-Scott, are you going back to work or something?”

“Yeah, few more hours. But, dude, tonight, what are you doing? Please, tell me you don't have plans.”

“I'm out of here early to make some deliveries but other than that, no...” That made him suspicious. “Why?”

“Come to this party tonight with me. It's at this club downtown. Please? It's suppose to be totally cool. We have to go. Come on.” Scott gave him his best begging puppy eyes that worked on pretty well everyone. Stiles stared back at him unimpressed, saying nothing. “Please? Everyone else is going. We should too. Malia? You in?”

“Sure. I like getting drunk,” Malia agreed easily. Not Stiles though, he was not falling for it.

“Oh no, no-no-no. We are not going to some party just so you can stalk your not-girlfriend, Scott. The only reason you want to go out tonight is because Allison is Isaac's date for that party.”

Scott blinked at him, mouth opening a little. A soft pink started to spread from his ears to neck showing his embarrassment. “How did you know that?” he squeaked out, caught in his little trick.

“Lydia told me.” Stiles knew the very second Scott brought up that party, it was all about Allison. Scott had a history of pinning over her, watching from afar ever since high school where the two dated briefly. However, Scott was still hung up on her. Stiles usually felt sorry for him, but this was getting out of hand. He leant on the counter, pushing his witch hat back into place and said with the most sympathy he could muster today, “Don't you think it's time to let it go, man? She's moved on. You should too.”

Unfortunately, it sounded more uncaring and judgmental. Scott's embarrassment turned to hurt. Stiles' shoulders sagged. “Come on, dude... Don't look at me like that.” He kept looking at Stiles with sad hope in his eyes. “I've been work late all week. I just want to go home... Scott, come on.”

“It's fine. I'll go alone,” Scott said as he paid for his coffee and back peddling toward the door, guilt tripping all the way with his kicked puppy eyes trailed on him. Stiles groaned and dramatically threw his arms in the air. He hated how easily Scott can play him.

“Crying out loud... Fine. I'll be done with my deliveries by half passed eight... pick me up whenever after that.”

“Thanks, Stiles! You're the best! See you there, Malia!” Scott immediately perked up, shouting with excitement. He dashed out the door to go back to work, a large smile on his face. The bakery door closed with a light jingle behind him.

“Christ...” Stiles breathed. Beside him Malia started to snicker. She looked him over, entertained by his impressive displace of spinelessness.

“God, you are so easy.”

“Oh shut up.” Stiles started about behind the counter, finding takeout boxes and containers for later. “Now I get to miss out on dinner and be dragged out against my will. Don't even have a costume or anything. It's gonna suck.”

“You can wear these.” Malia waved her stupid cat ears at him teasingly but he just shook his head.

“I'd rather wear this dumb ass witch hat, thanks.”

“There you go, problem solved. Wear the hat and get drunk on Scott's dime. It's the least he could do for him stalking a girl at a party and taking you down with him.”

“Not a bad idea,” Stiles agreed and continued on with his job.

 

Not too much later, Stiles got out of work to do his deliveries, dropping off cartons of cookies, brownies and cakes to the private partied and fancy dinners. He got done early enough that there was time to head home and shower before Scott texted him that he was on his way. It did mean he forwent food for a shower. Stiles threw on a pair of jeans and just a regular shirt, looking no more dressed up than he would any other day of the week and not exactly Halloween-esc. It was just a plain red t-shirt and bluejeans with a rip in one knee. If he runs into Lydia at the part, which would be pretty likely since he'd first heard about it from her, she'd be very unimpressed with his lack of effort. He didn't really care though, ruffling his damp hair and grabbing his oversized witch hat. He wasn't going to party. He was going there to stand in the corner and silently judge his best friend for acting dumb. See – judging already.

Stiles wandered down to the sidewalk out front of his apartment, finding Scott parked along the curb waiting for him. He opened the door and slid inside the car, looking over to his friend finally. Scott was dressed in one of those last minute costume ideas with a white button up, half done up, and a superman shirt underneath. Sure, whatever worked. Stiles had to take his witch hat off to actually sit in the car. He sighed, closing the door. “Okay, let's get this over with.”

“Fuck, sound more excited would you?” Scott commented, kicking the car into gear.

“We are literally going to a club to spy on your ex, potentially get the shit beat out of us by a bouncer for being creepy, and spend a fortune on overpriced drinks – which you're paying for mine by the way, because I could be boiling some instant ramen right now instead of getting dragged along with this nonsense. And you could have come over if you wanted to sulk in private.”

“I don't sulk...”

“Dude, you are the champ at sulking.”

“God, you suck, Stiles,” Scott muttered.

The rest of the drive was mostly filled by one sided talk of party excitement. Like any young adult around Halloween, the two had gone to their fair share of clubs and house parties. They always had fun, usually involving too much alcohol and candy, then waking up on the floor or a random couch. Though, Stiles had never woken up in anyone else's bed before unlike Lydia and occasionally Scott. Drunk Stiles was probably more than anyone wanted to handle. He had all his normal attributes – talked too much, no attention span, loud – except drunk Stiles was also a clinger, getting more handsy than he ever would on his own. He blamed that good old liquid courage because only then could he stand repeated, soul crushing rejection from hot strangers.

So, he'd wake up with a headache, alone, hungover, and wondering what the point of going out was when that was the pay off. It wasn't even that he wanted to get laid. Although that was always a second thought to everything one does at a club. Stiles honestly would be alright with just finding someone to spend time with, talk to, and maybe dance. Who would go to a club and want to dance alone? There was little fun in that. Obviously, this is from passed experience because it always happens to him. Who ever he went with, be it Scott, Lydia or Erica – whoever – they always found a dance partner to occupy their time, leaving Stiles alone at the bar, bored and drunk. Now, an hour into the night, that's more or less exactly where he was, abandoned by Scott and alone to drink, jealously watching groups of people dance around him.

The club they had come to was a usual for them. Smaller and less expensive than some, but it still sold good drinks and had decent music. Stiles watched everything from his place by the bar, a cold beer in his hand because while he wanted to drink, he wasn't immediately looking to get plastered. So there were no shots being slid his way. He'd lost Scott almost the second they got inside. Either he saw Allison and took off running, or just thought he could hunter her down in the crowd of costumes. Stiles zipped his lip over what she'd be wearing, choosing to tell Scott that he had no idea. He'd actually known for days. Lydia had sent him pictures of their costumes. Apparently, Scott would be looking for a brightly dressed Allison with purple and pink galaxy makeup, with stars in her hair. How that was a costume was beyond him, but again he was in a t-shirt and jeans, so...

He saw Lydia herself dance through the crowd, finding no shortage of partners. Seriously, he was shocked she didn't have stalkers going after her too. She was gorgeous. Her Halloween costume was something Stiles would consider to be an _actual_ costume, and not just make up or something overtly slutty for the purpose of being slutty, which was probably why so many people wanted to dance with her instead of the sea of barely dressed Disney princesses and sexy insert-animal-here.

She had more class and that was far more attractive because of it. Lydia had a white, almost sheer dress on wrapped like a toga, and she'd gone overboard on the gold jewellery. Stiles was suspected that she was some default goddess, but he knew if he asked her Lydia would give him an actual inspiration for her outfit, and a history lesson if necessary. So, he shrugged and drank more.

His own hat was hot and made his scalp itch. Stiles swore he used to like Halloween... He used to put so much effort into his costumes, not that anyone ever understood the reference he was trying to make. No where short of comic-con would appreciate his ideas. Stiles rubbed at his hairline, finding it wet with sweat and uncomfortable. Maybe if he had been given a little more time, he could have come up with something less itchy, like a lazy lumberjack or a zombie.

Stiles sipped at what was left of his drink, trying to take his time with it but he couldn't make it last forever and quickly he found himself ordering more. The heavy beat of the music made his foot tap, impatient with the rest of his body. His head bobbed to the rhythm. It was the usual dance music, remixed for the occasion with a lowered pitch and slowed down in places so everything sounded spookier. Stiles found it was decent to listen to since no one wanted to dance with him. And he'd asked, seriously he did. He'd smile at someone and they'd roll their eyes and walk away. Was he really that unappealing to everyone?

Through the crowd of dancing drunks, Stiles could see the start of a fight waiting to happen. Allison was wrapped up in Isaac's arms and Scott was not far off. He really should stop his friend before they both got banned from ever coming back here. He groaned and downed a third of his fresh beer without thinking about it. The buzz shot through his system without much warning and Stiles took a slightly wobbly step from where he'd been leaning all night. Maybe he'd drank more than he thought he did, or just a lot faster than expected.

Stiles wedged himself through the party trying to find Scott again but found that to be a task and a half. Bodies bumped into him, awkwardly rubbing up against him as he pushed passed. This shouldn't have to be as hard as it was. He frowned, reaching up to grab onto the brim of his hat so he wouldn't lose it. It wasn't exactly his to misplace.

Someone ahead of him moved and Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't Scott he was suddenly looking or anyone else he knew but it was hard for him not to stop mid step, jaw hitting the floor and watch a muscular body heading in his direction. He was imposing and people got out of his way as he moved. He was tall, tanned, and perfectly defined with a broad chest of muscles and thick arms to go with it. His abs were on perfect display because he wasn't wearing a shirt at all, just low riding black jeans that Stiles really wanted to get into.

If he had to give a prize for worst and best costume simultaneously, it'd be this guy. For a few quick breaths, Stiles could barely tear his eyes off those toned pecs to look up at the plastic wolf mask covering the guy's face. Other than the black hair which spiked up from behind the mask, there was little indication as to his facial features. But seriously, he could keep the mask on, the rest of him was flawless.

Stiles almost dropped the beer in his hand, having forgotten completely that he'd been holding onto it. The cold bottle was suddenly very warm in his palm. He took a quick sip, just to distract himself and to pretend like he wasn't staring at a half-naked buff guy. The embarrassment turned that small sip into an abrupt chug because the guy was still heading straight for him like Stiles was someone he really wanted to get to know on the middle of a dance floor, even though there were so many other people in far more seductive costumes who'd be more than happy to be on the receiving end of anything this guy was offering. Stiles licked his lips, patiently letting the stranger come up to him. Stiles tilted his head back to looked into the stiff plastic face of a wolf.

Neither said anything, though Stiles wished he had the mental capacity to come up with some pun that had to do with witches or wolves. However, his brain felt like it was leaking out his ears and onto the floor. Hot, firm hands found their way onto his hips, tugging their bodies close. The hem of Stiles' shirt was pushed up by calloused finger tops, exploring the skin they uncovered just above the waist line of his jeans. Stiles didn't fight it, instead he pressed into the hard abs in front of him eagerly. The unspoken dance request was definitely accepted.

The easy swaying on their dance quickly turned to grinding, their bodies trying to seek out some satisfactions via friction. It was a dulled pleasure until his hips twisted just right and Stiles bit his lip hard. The music drowned out the sound of his lewd moaning.

Stiles wanting the guy's body all over him. He turned around to lean back against that muscular chest. Arms wrapped around his hips, holding him there. Stiles' drink got lost somewhere in the crowd, probably being snatched up by some weirdo that wanted a free drink. Not that he cared, he didn't want beer. Stiles wanted to taste the sweat on this guy's neck, wanted to sink to his knees and down this guy whole. From the way he moved, Stiles could feel the outline of a very hard erection pressing into his backside. It felt good there, rubbing up into him greedily.

 

Fuelled by too much alcohol and the adrenaline high, Stiles let the wolf take him by the hand and lead the way out of the club and away from everything.

 

 

In his few breathes of consciousness Stiles felt wonderful, a glow of sleepy satisfaction. That was until his eyes started to blink open. The bright light of the morning sun spilling into the room burned his eyes, making them immediately feel strained and dry. Stiles turned his face into the soft material of the pillow under him, wanting nothing more than to pull the covered up over his head and fall back to sleep. But as he tugged on the warm blankets, they refuse to budge from where they were bunched at his chest. Squinting from the light, he looked down at himself.

He was laying on his side, half turned into the mattress already, but the covers were so wrapped around his legs and torso that he couldn't move much. There was also the fact that there was a thickly muscled arm stretched out over his hips keeping him in place. He didn't have to check to know that he was naked, as was the person behind him. Stiles was a little scared to look over his shoulder. They weren't pressed together or anything but he still knew. From how the arm was tossed across him, the guy was obviously sprawled out on his stomach on the other side of the bed.

Stiles licked his lips thinking back on his night. He hadn't been _that_ drunk or anything, but fuck, he went home with some guy... slept with him... and it had been as terrible as you could imagine two drunk guys could wrestling on a bed to be. This was so embarrassing that any morning after, post-sex boner he might have been able to sprout was dead before it had a chance. There was no giddy 'just got laid' spark in him, or any satisfied after glow, just awkward embarrassment of still being in the dude's bed. He'd wake up soon too and then they'd have to talk or something, which he didn't want to do.

A sharp pain blossomed in Stiles' head, a wonderful reminder he'd been drinking. A hangover was the best way to make the whole situation worse. Stiles groaned and rubbed at his face wanting to curl into a hole and die. Could he just teleport home to his own bed now so he didn't have to walk from where ever he was, or bus – that is if he even had money on him. What time was it anyway...

Stiles bit his lip, hating how his throat tasted like stale beer. It made him want to throw up more than anything else. He didn't want to wake the guy sleeping beside him so he tried to slide closer to the edge of the mattress. The idea being that if he could get out without waking him, then he'd be home free without any weirdness, or being yelled at for still being there after the fact. Some guys didn't like sharing their place after a one night stand and Stiles could respect that. Mostly though, he just didn't want to feel laughed at for the sexy part of their night being anything but sexy. It was both of their faults really, they had both been pretty drunk, but Stiles knew he had been terrible in bed. Clumsy, too much teeth, and definitely not as experienced as this guy clearly was. Maybe if he'd been a bit more sober Stiles could have been more of a skilled participant but that definitely wasn't happening here.

He didn't get very far. Stiles' careful wriggling woke up his one night stand with a jolt. He was grabbed with a firm hold and forced onto his back. The guy sat up sharply, like he didn't remember sharing his bed last night at all. Stiles squeaked in surprise too, eyes wide and thinking he was going to get the shit beat out of him. Of all the guys Stiles could go home with he had to pick one that did not look at all friendly in day light. Or maybe any time of day. He had been wearing a mask after all. And the guy leaning over him now wasn't someone Stiles would want to run into at night either. The man was built and could snap his arm if he wanted. He didn't look happy either from the way his mouth curled down at the sides and his brow knit together in a frown. Sure, he was still fucking gorgeous but Stiles did not want to be on his bad side, ever. It would have been smart to leave long before now.

Stiles gave a pathetic, scared laugh wanting to ease the situation a little. It didn't do much for him because the guy was ignoring him, clearly off in his own mind. He was looked over curiously. Stiles' bare chest was on full displace now that the covers had slipped down. It didn't take a genius to know what they had been up to last night. The guy must have remember too because he backed down and withdrew his hold on Stiles within seconds, but his defensive stand didn't lighten up. He still sat up on the mattress, blankets doing a good job at covering his lower half, but the muscular torso was still straight and tense, asking to be messed with.

Stiles wasn't taking that kind of invitation today, or ever. He didn't want to fight this guy or anything. He just wanted to get out of there with his limbs intact and all his teeth securely in his head. Slowly, he pushed himself back a little, trying to put some distance between them.

“H-hey, dude, I'll be out of your hair in a sec, no problem,” he said carefully. There was no reply which was fine with him. They didn't need to talk about last night. That was cool with him. Stiles groaned in pain as he gracelessly rolled out of bed and onto the floor. He was so rarely the bottom in his sexual encounters, which was minimal and normally with girls so that didn't quite count in this situation anyway. His lower back hurt, his hips were sore, and his thighs felt like jello from trying to hold himself in a position that he wasn't used to. It was like he spent hours at the gym for no pay off. It also didn't help that every small movement and sound made him want to hurl his guts out all over the nice room he was laying in. It looked too clean and put together to get ruined with a puddle of stomach acid and stale booze.

He crawled over to where he could see his pants and hastily yanked them on up his legs. A quick pat down let him know that his wallet and keys were some how still in his back pocket, thankfully. Now, his shirt was around somewhere, as was his stupid hat. Not that he was overly concerned about that right now. He just wanted the shirt so he could get the fuck out of there. He'd buy his boss a new hat.

Behind him the guy was finally starting to get up. Nothing was said between them still as they dressed, which was all right. Stiles was hoping for quiet more than anything right now, just in case it triggered his headache and he'd find himself toppled over on the floor again. He rubbed his face feeling sweaty and gross.

Not until after he'd gotten his shirt on did he turn around. The guy, Stiles didn't see the point in asking his name now, was dressed too – in tight dark washed jeans and a brown shirt that was pushed up his forearms. It was just as sexy as being shirtless. Stiles huffed a little. How the hell did _that_ take someone like _him_ home? He literally had his choice of people at that club to bring back home and Stiles was his prize? And it had been awful! Fuck, his life sucked...

The guy was obviously disappointed with their night too by the way he was avoiding eye contact and speaking. Stiles let that slip understanding completely. He didn't want to bring it up either. Instead he raised his hand in a wave goodbye and turned quickly toward the door. He maybe made it two feet before bending in half. His stomach was turning and his head left him dizzy. If he didn't get out of there now, he was definitely going to throw up.

A gentle hand was place on his back. Stiles jumped, felling against the wall. Lifting his head a bit he could see a concerned face watching him, no longer aggressively glaring at him to get out. It made the guy so much more attractive in Stiles' opinion.

“This way...” he said in a low voice. Stiles didn't fight as he was gingerly helped out of the bedroom and down the small hallway toward the bathroom. The cold tiles felt amazing on his bare feet, grounding him so he didn't feel quite as dizzy. “Do you need... anything?”

Stiles looked at him before shaking his head slowly. He just needed some privacy to throw up all his regrets from last night. “I'm good, thanks.” He was about to close the door when the guy placed a hand on the frame.

“You can use the shower... there's mouth wash under the sink. I'll be... out here...” he said.

Stiles gave a little smile, grateful for use of a shower. That'd help a lot right now actually. The guy closed the door for him so Stiles could sink to his knees in front of the toilet in peace. It was a good thing he did too because his stomach lurched almost immediately. Acid burned at his throat as everything came up. It was hot and stale on his tongue. Stiles cough and spat as his bod rejected everything in his system. Over and over his insides came up. And after the third wave of heaving, his shoulder trembled and he was left sweating on the tiled floor. Stiles lay his cheek against the toilet, breathing heavily. He did not want to think about how much of that was overheard. How wasn't death by embarrassment possible...

He flushed and tried to clean everything up, hating that someone else would have to do so later. This was so much more humiliating than it had been earlier. Not only was it a shitty night and a weird morning but not the guy would remember him as the dude who threw up all over his bathroom. Stiles swore and sat against the shower. From where he was, he turned on the water, reaching out to do so instead of standing. It ran cold for a minute before the hot water kicked in.

Still sitting, Stiles stripped out of his clothes against and dragged his ass into the shower, letting the spray of hot water rinse off whatever vomit made its way onto his face. It felt creepy being in a stranger's shower, using their things after vague permission. But non the less, he did, standing up slowly. Stiles tried not to snoop, grabbing the first body wash he could find. It smelt like lemon and a little like oranges, definitely not what he expected of the burly strong man who lived here but who was he to judge someone's taste in bath products. He scrubbed himself of any sweat or leftover bodily fluid from their night together because he knew there was some. That too was something he tried not to think about right then.

After getting his hair washed and everything rinse off, Stiles stood under the water just to catch his breath. The hot steam eased his muscles and helped with the pain. Being physically clean now, he felt less disgusting. The only part of his hangover left was the headache which could be fixed later with a handful of painkillers and some coffee, maybe a sports drink or two. With an unwilling low sigh, he shut the shower off, ready as he could be to head out. Finding a towel near by, Stiles dried up and redressed.

It wasn't until he pulled his shirt on against that he noticed that he got some vomit on the front. Great... He tried to rinse it at the sink but it wouldn't dry for a while. So, he'd be heading home rumpled with a large wet spot on his stomach. _Whatever_ , he thought to himself, hanging the towel back up. He was just going home anyway. It didn't matter how he looked right now. Walks of shame weren't suppose to be glamorous anyway.

Stiles left the bathroom not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. He wanted to thank the guy at the very least and leave quickly. But as he stepped into the hall, the smell of toast and bacon welcomed him with a tempting pull. It smelt so good. He followed the wave of smells into a beautifully renovated kitchen. Seriously, who was this guy to live here? Stiles swallowed thickly, watching him move in front of the stove. The guy looked up from the frying pan. He looked indifferent mostly, but it was possible that this was his resting expression. The guy waved at a plate on the counter.

“I made toast and some eggs. Help yourself,” he offered. It took Stiles by surprise because he was expecting to be kicked out as soon as possible, not get invited to eat breakfast. And while he was ready to leave and never come back, it did smell good and he was never one to pass up free food. With a soft hand he took one of the two plates and filled it with some scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. The guy served him up some bacon to go with it and even brought him a mug of coffee once he was settled at the kitchen table. Stiles was questioning a lot right then. Good looking, well off, cooks - no one was this perfect.

Stiles took a bite of toast, thinking how this could turn into some Hannibal shit real fast. But the two ate in relative silence. He'd get asked if everything was okay and Stiles would nod in reply. Other than that, the only thing to pass between them was the clink of silverware on the plates.

When full, Stiles sat back in the chair, running his fingers through wet bangs. He was feeling much better after eating. He looked across at the guy who looked more calm and at ease now too. Stiles let himself look the guy over with new eyes.

He was still just as tall and tanned. His hair was still that black-brown colour. The club lighting hadn't lied to him about that. Now though, Stiles could see the natural features on his face, heavy brows over clear hazel eyes that weren't angry as he once thought. They were soft and made Stiles want to stare into them without realizing. The guy had a perfect jaw line, covered by well trimmed stubble. Stiles swore that even if this guy let himself go he'd just end up looking like a hot biker or something.

Stiles liked the dressed down clothing too. He found himself liking the bed ruffled hair. It suited him, he decided fondly. He held back a light laugh.

How did he get taken home by this hunk of man again? In comparison Stiles was a scrawny, pale, nothing. He was, at best, the boy next door that never got the leading love interest in any movie ever made. But somehow, in a club full of better looking people, this guy found Stiles good enough to take home. Maybe he'd been more drunk than Stiles previously thought. The idea rolled around his head, shooting down whatever ego boost Stiles could have ever given himself. He forced a smile and set his fork aside, now done with it.

“Thank you for the breakfast... and for the shower... sorry about the whole...you know, everything.” He didn't really know how to leave now. Should he offer to clean up, or wait to be asked to go, or should he just leave and never look back? This was the first time he'd ever hooked up with someone so whatever social etiquette there was, he had no bloody clue about it. A part of him wanted to take the guy back to bed for morning sex, but that wasn't happening. He started to tap his fingers uncomfortably against the table top.

“Don't worry about it,” the guy said. He was staring across the table at him and had been for a while now.

Stiles nodded, gathering his plate and fork in a hurry. He used the kitchen as an exit strategy to at least get out from under the guy's watch. Except, the guy followed him in there. “Still, sorry. Uhm, I can... clean up if you want. Or just go... if you'd rather I get out of here. I'm not really sure what to do.” Stiles started to talk a mile a minute from nerves. “Actually, dude, this is the first time I ever slept with someone I don't know, so I'm kind of out of my comfort zone. You probably want me out of here, right? You've been great and I'm just imposing on your morning... I'll just... you know...”

“Don't call my 'dude',” was his only reply.

“Well, I don't know your name or else I'd call you that. Or did you tell me last night and I don't remember? Oh fuck... I don't know your name...” Stiles blushed a hot beet red and turned to face the wall. He could not feel any more like a child if he tried. “And I don't remember telling you mine either. Fuck, this is awkward...”

“It's Derek,” the guy, Derek, told him in a level tone. He didn't sound offended or bothered by Stiles' yammering, which was a first. It was weird. His constant babble was normally off putting to a lot of people. He stood there quietly after that, watching Stiles with a calm demeanour, like he was waiting for Stiles to make a move to either leave or keep talking.

Stiles looked back at him with wide, confused eyes. He blinked, wondering if he was being asked for his own name too. “Stiles,” he said back, licking his lips a little out of habit. At least that was covered. Now he had a name to put to the face that would surely be featured in every wet dream and fantasy he had from here on out. Stiles turned towards Derek. There was maybe a hand span between them, barely.

He didn't even notice how close they were standing. All he had to do was reach out and he'd be able to feel the heat of Derek's body, feel the hard muscles underneath the fabric of his shirt.

Stiles leant back on the counter, wanting to move his feet but couldn't find the will power. He wanted to leave, run home and sulk into his own bed over a shitty night, but at the same time, he wanted to step closer into Derek's body and make an amazing morning happen with sober sex and post orgasm cuddling – if the guy was into that of course because it definitely was Stiles' idea of a good time. Many, many, good times, because there were so many things he wanted to do to that body, and for that body to do to him. He smiled to hide his thoughts but couldn't turn his gaze from Derek's steady eyes. They were fixed on him in a way no one else had ever looked at him before. It sent a chill up his spine and throughout his limbs like a quick circuit of electricity.

“What?” Stiles asked, unable to come up with anything intelligible to say. “You keep staring at me.”

Derek shrugged a little, eyes flickering from Stiles' mouth briefly before returning to look him in the eye. “Yeah...”

Stiles huffed. “Here I thought you were going to come back and say a stupid pick up line or make a pervy comment.” Because the look he as getting would go so perfectly along with 'did it hurt when you fell from heaven?' or 'god, your mouth would look beautiful wrapped around my cock'. Either way it probably would have made Stiles smile, weirdly enough. Instead Derek's brow raised, amused, and he said,

“Does that kind of thing work on you?”

 _Not as well as the bedroom eyes but..._ “Some times. Depends on the person.” They both gave a little chuckle. The soft sound of the older man laughing made Stiles smile broadly. If the intense stare ignited Stiles' sexual fantasies, the warm laugh made his heart flutter. He didn't notice leaning closer to Derek's chest. His fingers reached out, brushing over one of the guy's belt loops. It was a suggestive gesture, Stiles' finger curling around the piece of denim loosely. If it got him turned down, it wasn't like his day could get any worse.

Except, Derek wasn't rejecting the idea of getting closer. He was more than willing to box Stiles up against the counter, hands on either side of him to make sure he didn't take off. He leant down, not having far to go to close to distance between their mouths. A light kiss passed between them, testing the others willingness to try again. While brief, it was warm and feeling lingered long after they pulled apart. Stiles smirked, letting out a breathy sigh that heated Derek's lips.

Derek gave him a half lidded stare, daring him to move before he did. Stiles almost let him, let the guy take full control. But he wasn't in the mood to be that submissive, instead he pulled Derek in again. They were pressed firmly together, this kiss far more eager than the last.

Each pass of their lips moulded them together, growing to a frantic intensity. Tongue swept across teeth, tangling and tasting each other mouth. Stiles moaned into the kiss. It was a low, lust filled hum that said everything he was feeling – that he was fully ready for a second round there and now. Derek took it was just that. He slid from Stiles mouth, moving to kiss along the pale skin of his jaw and down the column of his neck. Each mole he came across was given a special lick that left Stiles a squirming mess against the counter.

Stiles' hands slid up Derek's body, exploring the lines of muscle through his shirt. Each groove felt all too defined and hard. There was a heat coming off him that was almost unnaturally hot, warming his hands as they moved up and around his shoulders to hold him close. The mouth on his neck lightly bit down on his skin and it caused him to whine out with a needy broken sound.

Stiles arched his back trying to feel all of Derek's body against him. The little movement earned him a solid thigh wending up between his legs, rubbing against his clothed erecting with frustratingly confined friction. He wanted out of those jeans, both of them. Stiles wanted them naked right there in the kitchen so he could touch Derek all over.

Hands found their way to Stiles hips, nails pressing into his sides with an impatient need. Derek's mouth left its place on the pale skin briefly. Against Stiles' wished, more or less, the two broke apart. But before there could be a complain voiced, Stiles was easily turned around to be pressed up against the counter. Derek pushed his body down with his own weight, rocking his hips forward into the plump ass before him. He place another kiss to the hot skin of Stiles' throat, right on top of a dark purple bruise he had made there. It was a beautiful deep colour set into the pink shade of Stiles neck. Pleased, Derek let himself grip and tug on the jeans keeping him from taking Stiles right over the counter.

Stiles pressed back into him, willingly folding over the smooth counter top. His forearms spread out flat against the surface. He was perfectly find with doing it right there. Hell, he'd be good anywhere. His legs locked under him but the tight hold on his side was a reassuring weight that promised to not let him fall. One hand slipped around to his zipper, easing the constricting denim on his crotch but didn't relieve it entirely. It was a blur to his lust filled brain how his pants were pushed down off his hipbones but not enough to be fucked. They more or less partly exposed him, like a good tease. There were more sounds of rustling denim. And before Stiles knew it, there was a hot, heavy cock being rubbed over the exposed cleft of his ass. He gasped for air which was coming to him in light headed pants.

He whined out little intelligible comments as the hand around his front side snaked its way into his jeans, rubbing at him slower then what he wanted. Stiles swallowed thickly, not sure if pressing back into Derek would get him what he needed more than thrusting up into the hand wrapped around his junk. He gave a frustrated moan and ducked his head down.

“Want more, baby?” Derek's husk voice ghosted over the back of his neck. Despite the heat of it, it made Stiles skin prickle and goose bump. A nonsensical whimper gurgled up from Stiles' chest as he nodded his head. “Here?”

It was an offer to go back to the bed, but really Stiles couldn't care less about where they fucked as long it happened soon. “Where ever,” he breathed, looking over his shoulder at the guy.

Derek smirked and pulled away from him, intentionally giving Stiles an eye full of where his jeans hung open at his waist. Maybe he was saying that they should move to another room or something but Stiles' brain was not picking up on the subtleties right then. Instead, he turned around, knees giving out on him. It was half on purpose to that he got to his knees, but much less graceful than desired. Stiles' knees hit the tiled floor with a loud crack that sounded more painful than it really felt. So when Derek came closer to help him with genuine concern, Stiles was less thinking about standing than the hard cock directly in front of his face. He pawed at Derek's thighs, tugging at the denim lightly for something to grip.

Derek's hands, which had been resting on Stiles' shoulders to help him up, froze where they were. His fingers curled into the fabric of the t-shirt with a tight fist. Stiles hear Derek suck in a breath as he leant forward, closing his mouth around the side of his cock. His lips dragged along the skin, tongue poking out to taste skin and sweat. He could hear Derek choke on his name when he groaned out the breath he'd been holding.

Stiles took it as a good sign. Unlike his messy display last night, he was more determined to show Derek that he actually knew what he was doing here. He ran his tongue along the shaft and over the head, looking up as he reached the tip. The sight of Derek hunched over him was priceless in that moment. The guy looked both ready to push into Stiles' mouth without permission and also stunned still. Stiles kind of likes the first option more and he gave little lick trying to coax Derek into joining him. Long fingers tangled in Stiles' partly damp hair, tugging and pushing through where the wet strand knotted together. The hair pulled, sending little pin pricks of pain along his scalp. The small burst of excess adrenaline left Stiles moaning loudly, unable to stop himself.

He sucked Derek half way down, moving slow on purpose to tease the hell out of the guy just because he wanted to pull more of those breathy sounds from Derek. His fingers stayed wrapped around the base, lightly squeezing. They didn't move or rubs at the skin. Derek gave a needy whine, trying to push Stiles' head further down, but he refuse to and would pulled back every time.

It was enough for him. Clearly done with Stiles' relentless teasing, Derek grabbed him by the hair, fisting it tightly and pulled him off all together. The aggressive display of dominance was much more of a turn on than Stiles initially thought it would be. His hand flew to his partially covers dick to press down on the painfully throbbing base. He licked at the excess saliva coating his lip before looking up to where Derek was still looming over him with a heavy stare. The guy just stood there, watching as Stiles palmed at himself through his jeans. It was predatorial and possessive.

He carded his fingers through Stiles' bangs. ”Fuck,” Derek swore.

Stiles tilted his head back, wanting to rub into the palm resting against his forehead. He smiled, letting a light chuckle come up, “yeah?”

Feeling boneless, Stiles wasn't sure if he could manage standing without falling over for a second time. But he wanted to, desperately. He wanted to get up and pounce on Derek so bad. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could slip and fall right on to Derek's dick. He laughed over the idea and sat back, legs tucking under him before he made the attempt to push himself onto his feet. His knees wobbled, wanting to give out on him. Thankfully, Derek's hands shot out to grab him around the waist, roughly pulling his body in close.

Stiles waved his hand off in the direction of the hallway. “Maybe, bed would be smart,” he offered out. He was extremely proud of himself that he could compose a coherent sentence with those bedroom eyes watching him so intensely. He was even more amazed how he coordinated walking backwards while still trying to wrap himself around Derek more or less like a koala.

Stiles let go of Derek when they made it to the bedroom. He grabbed onto the door frame, stopping them both. With a little smirk, he backed himself up, giving a nice little show of stripping out of his t-shirt. The shirt was then tossed across to the room. Stiles hoped it was sexy because he'd never actually tried to seduce someone before. He swung his hips in an exaggerated swagger before falling back on the unmade bed. The blankets curled around him like a warm nest. From there Stiles could watch Derek make his way over, stripping himself of his own shirt and throwing it aside to join the other.

Derek crawled onto the bed with amazing self control, taking his time to kneel up onto the mattress and straddle Stiles' legs. Each deliberately slow movement drove Stiles crazy with anticipation. He watched Derek snag the unopened, pre-lubed condom that they didn't get around to using last night. It had been forgotten about the whole time they tried to make it through their round of drunk sex, laying beside the pillow. It was getting some use now. Derek ripped open the packet while Stiles helped him out of his jeans.

Impatiently and desperate for more touch, Stiles wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down for another kiss. He moaned into the feeling of Derek's naked body rubbing and grinding against him like a wild animal. Nails dragged along his hips as his own pants were removed, leaving him bare.

The two rolled around on the sheets. Finally, Stiles gave into Derek's dominance, letting himself be pinned down and taken over. He made a half-ass wriggle, fighting against the hold just enough to feel the grip on his forearms tighten, but not enough that Derek would think to let him go. The grip held him still to the bed as Derek lay over him, pushing into his body. Their pretense of foreplay being dropped completely by this point, the strained physical need to get off being too much for them both. Deep satisfied sound filled the quiet room with each of their small movement.

The slick condom made the first thrust easier as it moved against raw used skin. What pain Stiles did feel was more soreness from previous muscle strain, but he didn't care now. It gave away to pleasure so fast. He wrapped his legs around Derek, urging him closer. His stretched muscled gave Derek the ability to slide all the way inside, right to the root. Once there, he held Stiles still, allowing them both to catch a breath.

Stiles leant up and gave Derek an encouraging bite on his lower lips, whimpering as the response he received was a knee jerk reaction to thrust deeper. “Holy shit,” Stiles croaked, voice growing hoarse.

His nail dug into Derek's back, scraping downwards over shoulder blades and ribs. Red parallel lines marred the tanned skin in bright contract. They were added too quickly as an aggressively needy rhythm was picked up between them. Stiles held onto him tighter, nails biting into Derek's skin. His head fell back as his body was pushed up the mattress every time Derek forced himself deeper.

Derek groaned above him, muscled tensing to show off all that definition. Stiles leant up quickly, chasing a bead of sweat along Derek's collar with his tongue.

Calloused fingers wrapping themselves around Stiles' throbbing and neglected dick was his breaking point. He shouted Derek's name and swore loudly. His eyes fluttered, unfocused and tired. His back arched, muscles tensing before snapping loose.

Body laying limp, still pulsing through orgasm, he was yanked forward for another hard kiss. Stiles felt like a rag doll, easily being lifted into Derek's lap, bouncing as he was repeatedly rocked into. He panted, Derek's name slipping out on every breath.

Stiles didn't even flinch as one of Derek's hands wrapped around the front of his neck. It squeezed lightly, just enough to redden the pale skin. He gasped out of reflex.

The visual of Derek's hand curled around Stiles' flushed neck was what got him off, fingers twitching as his body shook.

New heat blossomed between them. Stiles could feel Derek cum inside him, all the heat being caught up in the condom. It was disappointing in a way. Right then, he wished he could feel all of it, running and dripping out of his body. He'd been too drunk to enjoy that last night and only got to experience the dry aftermath.

Derek removed his hand from Stiles' throat. Still seated with him in his lap, he gave more last thrust before giving into exhaustion. Carefully, he laid them both down before unwillingly pulling out.

Stiles whimpered from soreness but also because of the loss of touch. He didn't want Derek to let him go. But as much as Stiles wanted to yank him back in, he rolled over onto his side, letting Derek adjust himself as needed. The slight privacy also gave himself a second to try and wipe off his own cum from his stomach. However all he managed to do was spread the white liquid around on his skin. He was going to sit up and suggest a shower, maybe even together, until Derek's arm wrapped around his hips much like how they woke up earlier that morning. Then a hard, sweaty torso was pressed into his back.

Stiles smiled, relaxing into the bed. Any idea of a shower completely gone from his mind. “Holy shit,” he couldn't help repeating to himself. The comment pulled an amused chuckled from Derek, who was content to nose at the short hairs on the back of his neck. It was nice to be held, not just after their rambunctious sexing but in general. Stiles was so rarely held that it made his heart do a back flip. Content, he closed his eyes and let his own fingers run along Derek's forearm, feeling the dark hairs tickle along his palm.

“You enjoyed that?” It was asked teasingly of course and Stiles couldn't help but be snide right back,

“No shit.”

Okay, he was now officially going to thank Scott for dragging him to that party. This was a pretty sweet outcome after his shitty day at work. Yeah, he ditched his best friend at a night club to go home with a total stranger, but one look at the guy and no one could blame him. Hell, with the right coercing Scott might have gone home with Derek.

“Of all the people I could have ended up meeting last night...” Stiles trailed off. For all the bar hopping and clubbing he'd done in his life, he's been hit on by both baby faced teenagers with fake I.Ds and guys as old as his dad. So, yeah, of all the people he could have met last night, let alone gone home with.

“I can agree with you there,” Derek said honestly into his neck. It was still weird to Stiles that a guy like Derek would pick out someone like him in a crowd. He was skinny and pale, easily breakable, and boringly plain. Stiles turned a little on his side, trying to look at Derek behind him.

“And you ended up with me,” he replied. Derek had his eyes closed and looked very comfortable that way, like he was just about ready to take a nap. He nodded, rubbing his cheek against Stiles' shoulder.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Yeah... Why?” It was meekly asked. He didn't want to question his luck, but Stiles was dying to know what it was that made Derek get off on him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, opening an eye.

“Okay, so...” fuck, he was going to sound like a self deprecating loser. “You went out partying, and came home with... me. Why me?”

“Honestly? I'm self aware enough to admit I have a type. You're my type.”

“Wow... guys pushing the line of average...Truly high standards.” Yup, there he goes. But Derek didn't seem to really care. He stayed calmly wrapped around Stiles like he was used to this kind of behaviour, or like he expected Stiles would act this way. But it also made Stiles feel like he was being treasured how Derek's fingers dragged soothingly over his stomach. Stiles felt like he could purr.

“I like pale brunettes. So, sue me,” was his comment before a single kiss was placed to the back of Stiles' neck.

“That's fair. Then, you _were_ out looking for someone like me?” That made Stiles grin stupidly wide, happy. He'd never been someone's type before. It was kind of awesome. Screw 'walks of shame', he was going to swagger his ass home later with his head held high.

“It had been a long month for me...” There was something in Derek voice when he said that, it gave off the feeling that he didn't want to go into detail. Stiles didn't ask either. “When I saw you, I knew I wanted to bring you home.”

Stiles hummed and let Derek cuddle up to him. They soon fell into lazy conversation that bounced around to so many topics it was insane. Stiles told him why he got dragged out to the Halloween party last night, told him about work, even about his favourite movies. Turned out Derek knew where he worked too. Obviously, Stiles' wasn't surprised. It wasn't like Beacon Hills was a large town with dozens of bakeries. Still, Derek told him how he hadn't been there in a while, work and family keeping him occupied often. Stiles smirked and suggesting him to come in some time for a coffee and that he might be able to sneak him a free pastry once in a while. It's a tempting offer, one Derek promises to take him up on soon.

By the time they rolled off the bed, the sweat had dried on their skin and the smell of sex had dulled. Derek pulled his jeans back on. Leaving his shirt on the floor for now, he simply grabbed a hoodie from the closet to put on instead. He gave Stiles privacy to get up and dress while he said he'd go clean up their mess from breakfast. Stiles nodded, watching Derek zip up the hoodie. The fabric loosely covered his chest. He noticed Stiles' staring and almost bashfully left the room, closing the door behind him.

For a minute, Stiles remained sitting on the bed still bathing in the warm lingering satisfaction of good sex. Begrudgingly he finally swung his legs off the bed and stood to redress. He pulled his underwear and jeans back on slowly. His legs shook, making his stance unstable. It was going to be a very long walk home. _Worth it_ , he thought dragging his feet around the room.

Distracted, he eyed some of Derek's work clothes that lay over a chair placed in the corner. That is, he imagined they were work clothes. The thick fabric was coated in wood chippings and dust. Stiles technically didn't know anything about Derek, so it was at least a good guess.

He looked around a little more. If he didn't open any drawers, was it still considered snooping? The dresser top looked clean, if only too empty. The bedside tables looked similar, only side had a lamp, an alarm clock, the usual things people keep by a bed. Stiles decided to let it go for now and went over to where his shirt was crumpled on the floor next to the closet. He picked it up and pulled it on over his head.

Stiles was just going to leave like that. But that damn closet door was ajar just enough for his brain to reason with him that it wasn't exactly _closed_. And if it wasn't closed, it wasn't a total invasion of Derek's privacy, right. He gave a cheeky smile, just wanted to take a small peek. The assumption there was that he'd find more work clothes, manly smelling hoodies that'd make him want to roll around on the floor like a cat on catnip, or even just one small clue as to who Derek was when he wasn't being the sexiest thing ever. His finger hooked on the door with some hesitation. The worst he could find was a dead body, Stiles jokingly told himself. He pulled it open just enough to be peek inside.

It wasn't very deep, not a walk in by any means but there was enough space between the door and the hung up clothes to view each article easily. One end were all clearly men's clothing, ranging from a stray coat, some sweaters, to button ups and dress shirts. Everything Stiles expected to find. The other end, separated from Derek's clothing by being shoved to the side in a bunched mess of hangers, were all women's clothing. Colourful, girly, and petite. There were dressed in all fabrics and styles, some shirts and more sweaters. The first one of the bunch which he was given a full length view of was a rosy pink dress. It was long sleeve with a delicate looking lace overlay. Honestly, it didn't matter what it looked like. It could have been bright yellow with a cat on it. It was the fact it was there, in Derek's closet, shoved to the side like it was trying to be hidden. Stiles closed the closet door quickly so he didn't have to looked at the dress any more.

Without thinking about it, he dashed over to the dresser and ripped open the top sock drawer. It was full of Derek's things. He tried again with the one on the right. He huffed on an incredulous emotion lodging itself in his chest. The drawer was stuffed to the brim with scarves, jewellery, and framed photos. That's why the bloody dresser looked so clean. It was all shoved away so specifically Stiles wouldn't have noticed it. Kind of puts a damper on a one night stand if the person you bring home has to see pictures of your wife or girlfriend while getting fucked into the mattress. Stiles frowned hard, screwing his eyes tightly shut. He swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get the hell out of there, now.

He knew all along Derek had been too perfect. The guy was fucking married, or at least had a serious girlfriend. He was a cheater, out looking for someone to bring home for some fun while the place was empty. Stiles hated himself so much, but Derek even more.

He opened his eyes and picked one of the framed photos to take out of the drawer. It broke his heart in so many little pieces. Part of him blamed himself for being gullible and drunk. The other half pitied the girl in the photo who had no idea he was even there.

She looked nice too which made the twist in his gut worse. She was closer to Derek's age. That certainly didn't help with how naive Stiles felt for believing those incredibly handsome hazel eyes. The two, Derek and this woman, were posed in a gentle hug, her head resting on his shoulder affectionately. Derek looked just as happy as she did, flashing an amazing smile of white teeth. Stiles tried not to look at him though. Instead he looked at the girl, how she was kind of pale with a round face and a smug smile, pained with light pink lipstick. She had dark brown hair. And on one cheek she had a little beautify mark.

He remembered what Derek had said earlier about how Stiles had been exactly what he wanted to take home. “You definitely got a _type_ , dude,” Stiles seethed and set the frame photo up right on the dresser.

He didn't even care if Derek knew he'd been through his things. Stiles marched out of the room, face red with anger and embarrassment. He ignored Derek moving around in the kitchen and went directly for his stupid witch hat that was sitting on the coffee table. How it got there he didn't remember, nor did he give a shit. He snagged it and did a quick triple check for his wallet and phone.

“Do you want any more coffee before you go?” Derek asked warmly, appearing from the kitchen with his own mug of freshly made coffee. There was this warm look in his eye as if somehow he actually liked Stiles and kind of wanted him to stay longer. But it was total bullshit. That damn smile. That perfect 'got it all' posturing. It was all fake. Stiles' frown deepened.

“No,” he snapped while making a B-line for his shoes.

The sudden tension in his voice made Derek pause, utterly confused over the attitude change that, to him, was coming out of no where. Stiles wanted to straight up punch this guy. Derek of all people had no right to be offended right now. He hated guys like that, liars with no loyalty. He bit his lip, badly wanting to tell this bastard to shove his head in the oven and do everyone a favour. Stiles hastily tugged his shoes on, not bothering with the laces.

“Stiles, what's wrong?” Derek asked, having the audacity to sound genuinely concerned.

“You! Fuck! How did I fucking fall for this? God, you're such an ass hole, you're an unbelievable ass hole.”

An insulted expression snapped over Derek's face. “Excuse me?”

How could he stand there, insulted, as if he'd get away with all this. Like no one would find out. Stiles huffed and threw his hands up dramatically. He talked fast when he was mad and maybe was making little sense, but to him it meant everything. “You were just so smart. Real clever! Well, nice try, dude. I know now. Oh-I do! So you can drop the nice guy _act_ you got going on. I'm not buying it. Fuck this!”

Derek moved closer to him, steadily reaching to take his elbow. Something that would have been a simple gesture of care now made Stiles cringe. He slapped out his arm, not only hitting Derek's free hand aside but also knocking the full coffee mug out of the other. The mug went sailing, spilling coffee all over the hardwood floor before landing with a loud crack, and breaking into pieces. Derek's eyes raced from Stiles, to the mug, and back. His face still looked so confused and actually hurt by this sudden behaviour which Stiles could not possibly comprehend.

“I will not be used like this!” He continued to yell. Sure, he could do a night of mutually beneficial manhandling, but that was when it was honest, where both parties knew what was going on. He, however, would not be some dirty secret for some dude to have. And if it wasn't Stiles, it would have been someone else. That wasn't right. “You lying fucker. I hope you're pleased with yourself!”

Stiles wrenched the door to the apartment open, not stopping to listen to Derek's stammering. He could pretend to be confused and fake ignorance, but Stiles knew better. Don't wait around for a liar to come up with a new lie. There was no point. So as Derek stood in the hallway calling after him, Stiles just kept walking away, blocking it all out. He didn't want to hear the hurt and need in Derek's voice. All Stiles could do was think of that picture of that girl with Derek and how she probably had no idea of the jack ass she was with.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the weekend passed in a haze. Feelings of anger and guilt hung around him like a heavy fog that seeped into his bones.

Stiles had been in such a state when he left Derek's on Saturday that he barely remembered how he got home. Somehow he made it back to his apartment in one piece, the small space greeting him with its rundown and mildly drafty charm. He'd fallen into bed almost immediately, clothes and all, and slept the day away to avoid thinking. When he couldn't sleep, he ate as a distraction. He didn't exactly have an appetite, the stress of everything weight down too much on him. It made him feel more sick than hungry. But at the same time, he just needed something to do with his hands and eating was the easiest thing for him. He ate whatever was in his cupboards, microwavable meals – because no one could call it food – and a bag of chips.

And if he slept Saturday away, he sulked through Sunday. Stiles left his phone on its charger by his bed. He refuse to even look at it the whole day, wanting to ignore people and the entire world outside his apartment. Right then he didn't want to see pictures of the party Friday night. He didn't want the mass texts which no doubt were sitting on his phone right now. Scott was probably wondering where the hell he was. But he couldn't do it.

Stiles downed so much coffee he couldn't sit still. He fidgeted away in the single room of his apartment and played movies back to back to keep his mind off Derek. Work couldn't come fast enough. The monotonous routine would help keep him busy so he'd have less time to dwell on his miserable weekend.

However, work Monday brought its own kind of special bullshit. It didn't end up helping distract him from anything because his braid turned out to be very good at multitasking. Stiles had some how made it to work on time, despite his persistent procrastinating, waiting until the last possible minute to even get dressed. But when he got there, the bakery was already in the midst of its early lunch rush, so he slapped on a big fake smile and tied on his work apron. He seamlessly slipped in beside Malia to help out behind the counter, witch hat firmly on his head.

Serving cup after cup of coffee to the mad rush of people on their lunch hour was strangely robot for him. He didn't need to think about what he was doing. It was all physical. So, his mind was freed up to wander and mope.

When the lunch rush died down Stiles tossed his hat onto the back counter. He would not be putting it back on, he promised himself. There were still two days until Halloween. He'd find his own goofy hat. Or not, he didn't really care.

Stiles went about cleaning and filling the display case with fresh baked goods while Malia leant on the counter, casting him a curious look. They'd fallen into idle chit chat as they worked but she hadn't said much at all since he'd gotten there. She just kept eyeing him up with a knowing smirk. For some reason, Stiles couldn't help feel laughed at.

“What?” he asked, tired of being watched.

“So, how was your weekend?” There is was, the question he didn't want to answer. She probably assumed what happened and didn't need to ask. It was obvious, so she was only asking for the sake of confirmation. Stiles looked tired and sore, and still had a neck covered in blatant hickeys. Any idiot would be able to guess what he'd gotten up to.

Stiles closed the display case and shrugged like everything was no big deal. “Oh, you know, got drunk, went home with this super hot married guy. Typical Friday night for me.”

“What?” Malia coughed like she was choking on her tongue. Her eyes widened from surprise.

“Oh yeah. It was fun...” the sarcasm was oozing from his voice there.

“You... What?”

“I didn't know at the time, obviously. Found that out after all the sexy stuff happened,” Stiles continued on. He ruffled his hands in his hair, doing a good job of messing it up. “So that was great. How did your weekend go?”

“Did she come back and find you there or something?” Malia blinked, weirdly not sure how to handle the situation. Normally she'd just poke fun at him over something stupid that he'd done, but this was more of a sensitive topic and didn't need the added judgment. Stiles appreciated that she was holding off on mocking him at the very least – for now. He crossed his arms.

“I don't really want to talk about him,” he told her.

“Well, I do. Fuck, come on. What happened?”

Stiles sunk back against the counter. Reluctantly he told her, leaving out certain details that he didn't want to go into. “So, Scott ditched me at the bar... Met this guy, tall, shirtless. Couldn't say no. Anyway, went home with him. Yes, we had sex. Then I find pictures of his wife and her clothes, and I peaced the hell out of there.”

Malia swore under her breath, taking it all in. Hopefully that wrapped everything up for her so he wouldn't have to talk about it more. Stiles shrugged and started to clean mindlessly. A light, annoyed laugh cracked on his voice. “You know what,” he started to say. Derek had seemed so nice, unexpectedly taken care of him, was warm. Stiles found himself thinking that if everything had gone differently, he could see himself falling for Derek real quick.

“What?”

“Never mind... It's nothing.” Stiles grabbed their next order form, browsing what they would have to put together. The door to the bakery opened, bell jingling away. He didn't even look up from the sheet, putting a pen between his teeth to start checking things off. “Mal, can you-” he waved towards the register and the approaching customer.

“Why? It's just Scott.”

“Oh, hey buddy,” Stiles said around the pen in his mouth. He wasn't surprised Scott would show up. The guy normally came in at least every other day. He'd grab coffee before heading back to the animal clinic for work. “How's it going? On your break?” Stiles grabs a cup for Scott's usual order. He smiled at his friend innocently. The two hadn't exactly spoken since the party so, Stiles felt like the guy coming by to talk was inevitable. As was the unimpressed expression on Scott's face as he came up to the counter. He looked at Stiles with an expression half way between put out and curious.

“Stiles, what the hell happen to you Friday?” Right to the point, okay. This was going to be fun. “You ignore my texts all weekend, and you didn't return my call. I left you a voicemail and everything. You're lucky I didn't come break down your door at some point. So, what the hell, man?"

Stiles sighed and shrugged, putting the pen behind his ear. He put Scott's coffee on the counter. It freed up his hands for Stiles to wave them around wordlessly. Where the fuck should he start? “Well... uh...” He was wondering if hung over and sick was a good enough excuse or if he should straight up lie and say he had Sunday dinner with his dad.

“Stiles slept with a married guy.”

“What the hell?” Scott yelled.

Stiles gaped like a fish trying to find the right words but all he could come up with was, “I think. I mean, I'm pretty sure he is.” He groaned loudly in frustration, scratching at his hair line. His hand slid down to hold the side of his neck, covering up the purple blotches there. He hoped those would go away soon. Scott was still staring at him, eyes big and questioning. “You took off in the crowd and he was there and I...I don't know. Drunk shit happened. I'm not proud of it, okay?”

For some reason, Stiles couldn't find it in himself to bring up any more than that. Guilt maybe, because now thinking back on it, he had no idea if Derek was actually married or just seeing someone. He never let the guy explain himself. And while he didn't want to, a part of him wish he had, just so he could have something to focus his anger on. So, he left it at that. He didn't give either of them Derek's name or a detailed description of what he looked like. Stiles simply left it at 'some guy'. He looked down at the counter and drummed his fingers against the smooth surface.

“Yeah, so, that's it. That's what I did this weekend. What'd you get up to without me? Hmm? Care to share, Scott?” It was impossible to hide the tone of his voice, how down right pissed off he was. Stiles took a long breath, trying to reel himself back in. “Did you and Isaac get into a fist fight over Allison? Or did she beat you both up for fighting over her? Would have loved to see it.”

Scott's initially insulted fluster quickly faded off, his face turning a bright shade of red. A smile broke out over his face, stretching from ear to ear like a goof. It was accompanied by an appropriate chuckle of embarrassment.

“Oh my god, Scott. What happened?” Stile stared at his friend. What ever happened, it was big enough news to make Scott forget about their previous conversation. He was definitely alright with that of course. He smirked over the sudden change in behaviour and leant forward over the counter to take a light, playful wing at him with the clipboard. It hit Scott in the shoulder gently. “Come on, fill us in.”

“I met this girl,” Scott began. He paused for a sec, wistfully looking off into space, smiling away like an idiot the same way he always did when that happy.

Stiles crossed his arms over the counter. He stood there, impatient for a beat. “Yeah? And?” Stiles urged him to keep going. Whatever he'd been going through could gladly wait till later.

“Okay, so...” Scott fiddled with his coffee cup, picking at the paper lip. “I was going to talk to Allison... Maybe. I was going to do something stupid. That's why I was there. But she was dancing with Isaac and she looked pretty happy that way. And it got me thinking about what you said.”

“That you should let it go?”

Scott nodded. “Seeing her with someone else. It really sucked, you know? So, I was leaving, ready to find you and grow up like you've been telling me to... and then I ran into this super cute girl. She was with her friend so I wasn't trying anything.”

“Oh! The fox,” Malia pipped up, looking at Scott from where she had been broadly leaning on the back counter, more or less away from their conversation.

“What fox?” Stiles looked between them.

“She was dressed like a fox. It was-”

“Cute?” Stiles interrupted with a teasing tone. Scott lightly glared at him like he was being made fun of, which he was, but not that much.

“Shut up. It was. She had these fluffy ears, and a tail and everything. And she said she liked my costume too.”

“And then? Did anything happen?” That couldn't have been all. Stiles waited for Scott to go on but he smiled knowingly, leaving him in suspense. He slid his mostly empty cup over the counter for a refill which Stiles complied with before passed it back.

After that, Scott blew some of the steam from his cup and laughed. “I bought her a drink,” he said. “And she gave me her number. We've been texting non stop since Friday.”

Stiles nodded, impressed. He knew Scott was capable of confidence, so it was good to see him using it. “And does this fox have a name?”

“Kira. Her name is Kira.”

“Cool, maybe after your sixth date you'll bring her around so I can meet her.” Stiles was exaggerating of course but it was still funny, even if only to himself. Scott was an old fashioned romantic and wouldn't rush into anything too quickly. It was honestly adorable. And he'd be lying if Stiles didn't feel just a little jealous. Scott told him they would both meet her long before that but Stiles waved him off.

“So, what are you going to do about that guy?” Scott asked out of nowhere. It left Stiles blinking at him like a deer in the headlights. He backed away from he counter, arms still moving to cross over his body defensively.

He really wished he could just say 'what guy' and ignore the question entirely. Instead, Stiles shrugged. “Do what? What about him?” he asked. There was nothing to do about Derek. The guy was out of his life and wasn't likely to come back. You don't go chasing after a one time thing that ended in disaster. If by some fluke they passed each other on the street, Stiles knew neither of them would be eager to stop and say hello. And more than likely, Stiles knew he'd run in the opposite direction like the devil was on his heels.

“Well, have you thought about doing something? Talking to him again? Like, the right thing to do would be calling him out on it or something,” Scott suggested. Damn him for being too noble for his own good. However, Stiles just shook his head. That was something he wasn't ever planning to do.

“No. Nope. Not happening.” Stiles scuffed his sneaker against the floor tiles. He heavily sighed and licked his lips nervously. “It's not my place to tell this guy what he should or shouldn't do with his life. I already called him an ass. I'm leaving it at that. Hell, for all I know, he does this all the time. She could even know about it. They could have an open relationship. It's a waste of my time and theirs. So, no. I'm just going to walk away from all this, Scott. I want to forget it.”

Malia stepped up beside him, lightly hip checking him. She smiled at him before saying, “Maybe she's dead.”

“Oh, for fuck sake, Malia...” Stiles breathed. That wasn't a thought he was going to entertain. “It seriously doesn't matter.”

“Or they could be going through a divorce. My cousin's going through that shit. Makes him the whiniest guy on the planet.”

“Thank you for that. Isn't there something you could be doing right now, instead of mocking me?” Stiles cut in, ringing out Scott's coffee as he tried to discreetly kick her into the backroom. She took the hint well enough, disappearing through the door at the end of the counter without causing a hassle, only glaring over her shoulder. Once she had gone Stiles turned back to his friend. “You heading back to the clinic now?”

“Yeah, my break isn't long.”

“Okay, cool.”

Scott gave Stiles a warm smile, sympathetically trying to suppose him. He wished him luck with all the last few party orders that he had to sort through before taking his coffee to go.

Stiles gave a light snort, knowing how well his work was going to go later. It didn't bother him too much all because it would keep him busy for the afternoon and well into the evening. He was about to turn, to head into the backroom after Malia, when by chance Stiles looked up. His line of sight passed Scott's shoulder and glanced briefly through the glass of the front door. As if in slow motion, all he could see was a familiar body dogging cars as it came across the street at a jog. Stiles paused mid step, totally focused on the leather jacket and work boot combo coming his way.

He snapped. Or it felt like he did, because one second he was frozen in place and the next Stiles was laying across the counter top, grabbing the back of Scott's coat tightly and yanking him back in like he was a human shield. Stiles clung to Scott's back, cowering and trying to hiding his face in the material in his hands. Scott understandably jumped, wanting to turn around but only managed to look back, confused.

“What-?”

“Dude!” Stiles screeched. Still laying across the counter, he tried to pull Scott closer without climbing onto him. “That's him. Why is he here? Fuck. This can't be happening...”

“What? Who?” Scott turned his head to look in the same direction as Stiles.

“That guy. The guy. The married guy,” Stiles whined. He shouldn't feel so panicked. It wasn't a crime to go to a bakery mid afternoon on a Monday. Even if it was the one Stiles' worked at and this guy probably had something to say. Ultimately, Stiles just didn't want to deal with it. “Please don't tell me he'd coming in here.”

Scott looked the guy over as he approached the bakery's front door. He pointed. “That's him?” The skepticism in Scott's voice left Stiles frowning, like Scott believed it all to be a lie and Derek's appearance was now a shock.

He groaned, closing his eyes tight. The sound of the door's bell jingled away in his ears. Stiles slunk back off the counter, opening his eyes slowly. His hand remained fisted in Scott's coat, wanting to pull him back too but couldn't. Stiles could feel how his ears heated up, sending a redness over his face and neck. Embarrassed and awkward, he watched Derek take long strides across the shop and up to the counter. Too stunned to stop him, Scott slipped out of his hold and stepped aside so Stiles stood there with a hand grabbed at air.

Stiles couldn't even look at his best friend. His eyes were glued on the bastard standing in the centre of the floor, boots tracking dirt over the clean tiles.

Stiles swallowed heavily. He cleared his throat, mouth opening to say something but nothing came out. The words physically caught in his throat. The weird broken sound that did somehow croak out into the otherwise silent bakery was something akin to nails on a chalk board, high-pitched and loud. He clamped his lips shut again.

Neither of the other two in front of him seemed quite as affected by the tension. Scott, while uncomfortable, stood his ground, clearly not going anywhere while Derek was in the shop. He glanced at Stiles and nodded to show his moral support. Stiles appreciated it, and if he weren't other wise distracted, he might have said so. Instead, Derek was looking at him, a neutral expression on his face but desperation in his eyes. The sombreness in his hazel eyes tore at Stiles' heart all too easily. It made him want to climb across the counter and do whatever it took to make that pained look go away. Even though the belief that this guy was no good was solidified in his mind, Stiles couldn't help but feel empathetic.

It wasn't even the look in his eyes that got to him, not completely. Stiles could see the dark circles bruised deep into Derek's skin. The guy looked like he hadn't showered or shaved in days. And there was a little twitch in his finger tips that kept making his hand bounce against the side of his leg.

It was all too much for him to handle right now. Even if he wanted to, Stiles wouldn't let himself care or else he'd unravel.

“Stiles,” Derek spoke out, voice dry and hesitant. It was like he'd been thinking of what to say the whole way over here but now that he had the chance to talk all cognitive thought failed him, making it so all Derek could say was Stiles' name. He breathed out the name again, quieter this time but no less needy.

Derek licked his lips and went to say more but Stiles cut him off this time.

“Later, Scott.” Stiles' voice cracked and grated out of his dry throat. “I have stuff to finish up. So, I'll see ya later.”

“Uh, yeah. No problem...” Scott said, backing away slowly like he wasn't sure if he should actually leave or not. He gets his answer to that though as Stiles starts to head toward the backroom door along the counter, effectively turning his back to him and Derek.

“Stiles, please. I want to talk to you.” Derek said. It was said in a hurry, like he was genuinely scared Stiles would leave him standing there again. And honestly, Stiles wanted to. His toe dragged when he walked with uncertain slow steps toward the backdoor.

The way Derek's words begged him to stay plucked at Stiles' insides. It left him feeling fragile. So much so that he wanted to let Derek lie to him, to say anything as long as it meant he'd smile again and the two could get closer. But Stiles wasn't about to ruin a relationship he was sure existed, nor was he going to let himself be used. His heart wanted to give Derek all the chances there were, but his logical thinking pumped the breaks on that with a loud reprimanding 'no'.

“Sorry, I'm really busy,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

“Stiles, just stop and talk to me,” Derek insisted but Stiles wasn't hearing any of it.

He quickly retreated into the safety of the backroom. The rest of what Derek was saying trailed off into background noise, muffled when the door closed. Malia looked up at him from a stack of boxes that she started constructing. Stiles' ignored how it must look, him storming into the backroom looking like he was on the verge of manslaughter. He was stressed and angry, and finally broken. Malia stood up and gestured toward the door, starting to ask what was going on. They could hear Scott start to yell, one of the rare times he showed dominance. But Stiles waved it off as nothing, not wanting to acknowledge whatever could be happening on the other side of that door. Malia however went to check, leaving him alone in the backroom.

Stiles felt extremely childish in that moment, as if he'd just done something incredibly stupid and humiliating. His heart hammered away in his chest, sending out adrenaline through his body that made him vibrate with excess energy. His face was hot and jaw tightened. Guilt turned his stomach in a new way then, not because of what happened between Derek and himself, but over what could have happened. Stiles absentmindedly griped the clipboard that had all the order forms pinned down. He tapped his fingers against the hard plastic, looking through all the boxes and trays of baked goods.

His mind was spinning out of control. All he could think about was how sad Derek looked, the effort he was putting in to talk after Stiles had up and left him. Yes, Stiles had good reason to, anyone would have done the same thing. But somewhere in the back of his mind, now aggressively working its way to the forefront, was a thought that maybe he'd been wrong somehow.

Stiles hated the idea that he could possibly, in some way, be wrong about Derek. He wanted to place all the blame on him where he told himself it belonged.

From beyond the door he could hear Malia's assertive voice telling Derek to go. It was shortly followed by the light jingle of the door's bell.

Just like that, Stiles felt terrible. He wanted to throw up all over the coconut cookies set out beside him on the cooling rack. He could smell their sweetness and it made stomach acid rise in his throat. Defeated, Stiles sat down on the floor, back pressed against a cupboard for support. He did not possess the physical or mental capacity to deal with all this right now. Work had already made him high strung and tense. Anything Derek related was going to render him an emotional train wreck for sure.

 _God..._ He had known Derek for a few hours tops. The majority of which they have both spent drunk or asleep. Maybe an hour was spent talking before they fell into bed together... for the second time. Their relationship, if one could call it that, was no more than an acknowledgement of existence. They didn't _know_ each other at all. There was nothing between them. Although now, there never could be. Stiles burned that bridge by running away like a scared animal.

Stiles let his head fall back against the cupboard, eyes closing to keep the sting of stressed out tears from pearling along his lashes. Quietly, he wished they could have been nothing more than an empty promise of coffee. Stiles could have accepted that.

 

 

When Halloween came it was a mess to deal with. The second Stiles walked into the bakery that morning he immediately started to get bombarded with deliveries. The only positive thing about working like that was it focused his mind solely on work. The past few days were nothing but a hazy dream to him. Even when Malia looked at him with a tense expression, she said nothing about it though. There was a silent promise going on between anyone who knew about 'the incident' to not talk about it. Maybe months later when they've almost all forgotten it entirely, maybe then they could bring it up. But until then, Derek was banished from conversation like he never existed. And that was fine. It was fine. Stiles was fine.

His boss had given him the last of the delivery slips, pointed out anything that needed changed, and showed him where to find all the specialty items for the biggest order that evening – the Hale party. Of course that family had to snag their biggest catering night of the season. It happened every year. It was so big that the bakers worked overtime and limited the amount of treats other clients could get a hold of. It caused a lot of problems, but this family could afford it.

Malia continuously passed it off as her family being crazy, as well as going over board when it came to celebrations of any kind. Whether or not that was true, Stiles had no idea. But if it was, he found it sweet. He came from a relatively small family, so he never experienced large parties or Christmas dinners, never have to remember the names of third cousins or great uncles. It was just him and his dad. Stiles was kind of jealous, just a little bit.

Malia would tell him differently though. How her family was all kinds of extra. How many of her cousins were too similar and keeping them all confined to one space too long usually lead to heated arguments and flared tempers. She was just going to the party for the free food and alcohol. It made Stiles laugh a bit when she said that.

When it came time to go, Stiles groaned as he loaded another full box of treats into the catering van. Over half of it was going to go stale or be thrown out, he know it. He counted what was there and make a check on the order form. Everything was smoothly going along and would be ready to be dropped off in no time. Somehow, Stiles didn't know how to handle such good luck. He was honestly waiting for a phone call to cancel the whole order, or for the van to break down. Everything was going right for once. It was too weird and felt like a bad omen.

At least there was a few short weeks before Christmas parties started to happen, and Thanksgiving was a walk in the park compared to this.

When the last box was place inside, Stiles stuffed the clipboard under his arm and closed the van's door. He breathed out a long calming breath, turning his attention to the promise of a late night dinner for himself made up of fast food and whatever Halloween candy he had stashed away at home. After all the sweets and junk, Stiles wasn't sure how his body would handle a real vegetable.

Catering van packed and ready to go, both Stiles and Malia left the bakery in the evening to take care of their lesser orders before going to the Hale's residence. After days of being nagged over it, Malia finally put her cat ear headband on. Stiles had looked at her funny because it was at such a random time, however, Malia told him that she had to show up wearing some form of costume or else her aunt would find something far more embarrassing for her to wear. Stiles laughed, wishing he could see that.

Stiles was glad he didn't have to wear a costume any more. He left that witch hat with his boss and took off from the bakery wearing his regular jeans and his flannel. He was on the job and not a guest to anyone's party so it didn't matter how he dressed. Malia did look him over though, pursing her lips as she judged his clothes.

“You're a mess,” she pointed out as they parked along the long driveway toward the Hale's home. The day's manual labour had tussled up his hair and he felt sweaty. There were smudges of flour on his thighs from where he wiped his hands clean – or maybe it was icing sugar. And, sure, maybe there were sprinkles stuck to his shirt, but he brushed them off and told her no one would be looking at him, so it didn't matter.

He started to unpack the van as Malia went inside to get her aunt. Each box, which had been neatly stacked inside the van, had to be brought out and carefully put on a separate cart to move everything inside the house. It was more work than he wanted to do alone. He pushed up the sleeves of his flannel, getting kind of warm even in the cooler autumn air. The shirt ended up being unbuttoned entirely to show off the Star Wars shirt he had on underneath.

It took some struggling with the cart but Stiles eventually got it pushed up to the front of the house. Talia was waiting for him there, standing on the porch with a thoughtful expression and a warm smile. Stiles had met her before, but there was something about their meeting now that made her seem almost more familiar up close than he remembered. There was something in her dark features that really stuck out to him tonight. He didn't know why. Still, he smiled for her without a word as she signed for the delivery.

The smile became more genuine when he finally took in her costume. He should have known that such a sophisticated lady would have something posh and proper to wear. Her dark head was tucked into a bun on top of her head. She had a neatly ironed white blouse with a red bow tied under the collar. And her skirt matched her black shoes and umbrella. Stiles decided that she made for a very lovely Mary Poppins.

Talia showed him inside and where he could start setting out the food. The party was already getting underway but he was mostly left on his own to sort through all the boxes. He thanked her and got to work unloading everything onto the table. Cookies, cakes and squares were all arranged on trays. He left a donuts and muffins in their containers. Chocolates were set out. And soon, the long table was packed with treats. Stiles decided to take what wasn't opened yet to the kitchen. Someone else could figure out what to do with them later.

As he found his way toward the kitchen, Stiles felt more awkwardly out of place in such a nice home. Everything looked like it was either an antique or just cost a lot more money than he could ever make. He kind of didn't want to touch anything out of fear of breaking something. And that almost became impossible to do when a sea of kids in costumes came running down the hallway passed him, set loose form their parents to go play. Stiles was almost mowed down, cakes and all. He pushed himself into a side table, rattling the vase that sat on top of it. Thankfully nothing fell and once they had all gone, he was safety able to reach with kitchen.

The kitchen was mostly empty of any crowd, just the odd person using the room to pass through to another. He piled the extra boxes on the counter off in one corner where they would be out of anyone's way. Stiles still hadn't seen Malia come back from where ever she took off to, so he figured that now that his job was done, he should text her before he left. That way she would know where the extras were in case they needed them.

Head down, he pulled out his phone. It took only a second to type out a short message and send it. He started forward, careful to not walk into anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention, followed by loud laughter. Stiles looked up to see a group of people in the next room over. They were slighting obscured through the french doors thanks to the cobwebs strung up like curtains. But Stiles noticed three people standing around talking. One of them – leaning against a dinning room chair with a drink in his hand – looked like Derek from his side profile. Maybe it was his paranoia getting to him but it really did look like him. Stiles pocketed his phone, taking a slow, cautious step toward the large glass doors.

The guy looked relaxed, casually talking to an older man and a woman that had similar facial traits to Talia. Maybe she was one of the kids or some shade of relative. She said something Stiles couldn't hear and lightly smacked the man next to her before laughing. Other than the slight tension in his shoulders, the guy looked to be familiar with who he was with. He rolls his head to the side, looking unimpressed about what was being said. Maybe it was a joke made at his expense, he wondered over the many possibilities.

Stiles took a deep breath, sliding around the edges of the kitchen. He shouldn't be staring at people or trying to eavesdrop into their conservation. However, he crept forward. Mostly ignoring the other two, Stiles looked over the guy, wanting him to turn toward him just enough to see if it was actually Derek or not. Frankly, Stiles didn't know if he wanted it to be. His flight or fight instincts were all over the place with this guy.

Stiles forced himself to stop and not get any closer. He shouldn't be doing this, he knew that. This whole situation was wrong on so many levels. But damn it if this guy didn't look good in whatever the hell his costume was suppose to be. It didn't even look like much other than a green shirt and pants, as well as thick tanned forearms crossing over a broad chest. He groaned softly, telling himself that he was weak and pathetic. As Stiles was backing away for the hall to make an exit, the guy turned to give it all away.

Derek looked directly at him through the glass, like he knew he was being watched. They both froze, eyes locking in surprise. Stiles saw the expression on Derek's face change, the hardened lines softening around his strong features. It was a gentle look that made him want to go over to Derek and say anything.

Stiles let out a heavy breath, feeling his heart start to beat faster. He blinked, breaking the link between them. Quickly, he retreated back through the hallway. He reminded himself that this was a party, one Stiles had no business making a scene at. He walked quickly, backtracking his steps through to the living room.

Stiles frown in frustration, trying to move around the growing crowd of people. Why was this house so big? He almost made it around the room to where he could make it to the front font entryway when a hand landed on his shoulder, heavy and warm. It heated him through his flannel, making his skin prickle. Stiles tried not to jump. Knowing who was stopping him, he moved back against the wall. Derek stood there, dumbstruck and wide eyed at seeing Stiles there. It probably was a surprise for him too but Stiles wasn't going to explain everything. It was just his job. No big deal.

Stiles blinked and tipped his chin down. Now that they were so close he could tell that Derek was dressed in forest green scrubs. _Okay, Derek was playing the part of hot male nurse in all of his fantasies from now on_. Stiles mentally backhanded himself over the thought. Fuck Halloween. Stiles licked his lips and looked toward the party guests, thinking that they were all watching them but no one was even looking their way. It was just his paranoia again.

The hand slipped from his shoulder and the grounding weight was immediately missed. Stiles looked up at Derek then, wanting to ask him why he'd bother to come up to him here of all places. But Derek spoke first, sort of.

“Stiles,” Derek softly said before falling quiet again. It was obvious he wasn't the best with words but Stiles wished he could say something other than his name, not that he knew what he even wanted to hear. Stiles nodded,

“Yeah, that's me,” he said in agreement.

“Did... did Malia talk to you Monday?” There was a gentle, if not hopeful, inflection to his voice.

Stiles frowned, confused. He shook his head and answered with a questioning, “no...”

Derek huffed on a laugh, like he wasn't surprised. “Of course she didn't,” he smirked and swallowed awkwardly. “I asked her to explain everything to you... Maybe you'd believe her... instead of me.”

“There's nothing to explain,” Stiles interjected rather harshly. He hadn't meant it and immediately felt bad seeing Derek wince and look away. An apology caught in his throat that Stiles swallowed down with his guilt. The nag of bitterness still clung to his heart, wanting to stay mad even when Derek looked so hurt. “Where's your girlfriend anyway?” he asked, giving Derek a chance to confirm or deny who it was Stiles saw in the picture.

“Wife,” Derek corrected in a sad, breathy voice.

“Oh! Yeah... Called it. Great. Right.” Stiles laughed with a spiteful sneer. Straightaway he shut his mouth because it was going to become very hard for him to control the volume of his voice any second now. He'd been right this whole time. Foot starting to bounce, Stiles could feel his body restless with growing anger again.

“Uh... Uhm, she's not here,” Derek told him. Something about his tone didn't seem interested with her as a topic but Stiles didn't bother to think into it, even when he added, “And she's my ex, now, actually.”

“What, she find out you were a lying, cheating, ass hat and kicked you to the curb?” He fixed Derek with an accusatory glare. Yeah, it was mean, but Stiles was pissed. He wanted to say so much more than he had but every time Stiles opened his mouth to let another insult slip, he fell speechless and physically couldn't speak. Instead, he looked anywhere but Derek's face.

Derek's heavy brow curled low above his clear, darkening glazed eyes. “It's a little more complicated than that...” he said. Derek leant on the wall like it was suddenly hard for him to stand.

Stiles turned to him quickly, ready to cut off any further explanation. But he stopped, grimacing at the look on Derek's face. The beaten down expression facing him made it difficult to stay mad. He opened his mouth to speak, to potentially take back what he had just said, but all Stiles could manage to get out was a hum.

Stiles didn't want Derek to be this way. Not thinking he reached out to lightly touch Derek's limp forearm hanging at his side. The tips of his fingers barely were allowed to grave over the skin there before Derek was shrinking away from his touch.

“Der, I didn't...” What, didn't mean to insult him to his face and rub salt into an open wound – because he did. He was just hoping for a different response than this. Derek was suppose to be a jerk or something. “Der... Hey...” Stiles tried to catch his attention but the guy wouldn't meet his eye.

“Have a good night, Stiles.” Derek said, turning away from him.

“Hey, no. Derek? Stop. Please?” Stile made a small grab for his shirt, anything to keep him from leaving but Derek slipped through is fingers. Hand held out in mid air, Stiles watched as Derek disappeared out of the room entirely. He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the way his heart clenched in his chest. He'd been right about everything and in no way did that make him feel better. It did the total opposite, eating at his insides and leaving gaping holes behind. Stiles swore quietly, rubbing his hands down his face. There was an impulse to go after Derek but Stiles couldn't find it in himself to go through with it.

In absolute silence, he slipped out of the house and made his way back to the catering van. He drove back to the bakery in a daze. The radio fell on deaf ears the whole way, to the point that Stiles didn't even realize he'd left it on. It was a miracle, with how distracted and miserable he was that he didn't crash. Somehow, at least he found it amazing, he ended back home at his apartment. He unlocked the door and stood for a moment in the dark before he threw himself over onto the couch. The studio apartment wasn't large by any means. It was like living in a shoe box. Literally, if he stretched enough he could probably reach the kitchen cupboard from his place on the couch. On the other side of him, a bookshelf separated the room from his designated sleeping area. But even that felt like too far to walk. So, the couch was fine.

Stiles buried his face in the pillow and screamed into it. It muffled his frustration only slightly but whatever. His neighbours could put up with a little noise tonight. Still groaning, he turned to breath and sigh aloud, then swore over and over.

Laying in the dark was kind of nice. The paper blinds let in just enough of the street light for it to not be pitch black, but it was still more relaxing this way. Stiles stretched out on his stomach. His legs had to bend back due to the couch's arm rest or hang off the side completely. He was too tall otherwise. Okay, so his bed would have been a better place to fall, but he felt too dead to care.

After a few long minutes he pulled out his phone. The screen's light was bright as he checked the messaged waiting for him. Stiles squinted trying to adjust to the brightness. Texts from Scott, Malia, one from Lydia – all the usual culprits for the night – were staring back at him. Lydia had sent him a picture from whatever party she was at. Looked fun, but he didn't bother replying. Scott's text was just their usual chitchat. Apparently, he had this Kira girl over and they were spending the night watching scary movies. Stiles thought this was super cute of them to do, especially because Scott was a huge wimp. He imagined the guy balled up on his couch trying to hide into her at ever jump scare. It made him want to snicker, if he had the energy for it.

The last few messages were from Malia. One confirming his last text to her. The others went on, sent seconds apart from one another.

_'So you ran into Derek...Did you two talk?'_

_'What the hell did you do to Derek?!'_

_'Dude call me!!'_

Stiles groaned. Why should he? Malia should have seen this coming if she knew the guy was going to be at that party. And more over, she was suppose to tell him something kind of important, but she never did. He didn't know who was benefiting from her silence on the matter but, fuck, it probably would have been helpful at the time. If her hope was that they would talk on their own, it didn't happen that way. Stiles chose to pass off the blame to her for the shit hole he found himself in now. Maybe not entirely, but a good chunk of it.

He pressed his finger against the little phone icon next to her name. Stiles really didn't want to talk about this but he might as well listen to what she had to say, or should have said days ago. The line rang a few times before it was answered.

“Seriously, what the fuck?!” Malia yelled at him on the other end as a form of greeting. The music in the background died down, giving away to the sound of a steady breeze and muffled conversations. It made it easier for him to hear her now, thankfully, even though she still yelled into the phone. “What did you do?”

“Which part? I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” Stiles pointed out, finally pushing himself up on the couch to sit. “You ditch me to set up on my own. You don't tell me ahead of time that he was going to be there. Also, thanks for letting me know you knew the guy! I had to find that out by stumbling into him by accident, sorta... Oh, and apparently there was something you were meant to tell me but you didn't. So, thanks, Mal. Now, don't yell at me.”

“Yeah, you both go right ahead and blame me. It's not like you two could talk like functioning human beings or anything.”

“Bite me, Malia. Now, what do you want?” Stiles shoved himself back into the cushions, sinking into the crease. He was too tired to handle this.

“Okay, first of all, why didn't you just say it was Derek you met? I could have told you everything right away. But no, you wanted to keep that your little secret. You're a bitch, Stiles,” She said, grouchy.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “How was I suppose to know that? ...So, how do you know him?”

“He's my cousin, dumb ass.”

Stiles paused, face scrunching in realization. Now he knew why Talia looked so bloody familiar earlier. She and Derek shared many features in common. Of course he was a Hale. “Perfect. Great. I slept with your cousin. Cool.”

“Please spare me any more details, but yeah, you did.” Malia didn't sound too amused by all this but the miffed edge to her voice was slowly receding.

There was really nothing Stiles could say that would make anything better. He let his body go limp where he sat and waited for a bomb to be dropped on him. “So, you're yelling at me why exactly?” he asked.

“Because Derek left looking like his world fell apart again, what did you say to him?”

“He came up to me, didn't say anything at first. And I was going to give him a chance to explain, but then-Oh-then, he admitted it was his wife. I was right this whole fucking time. Anyway... I can't him a liar and he left.” Stiles explained in a hurried voice. “It was no worse than anything I've already said to him... How is this all my fault and not his now? I don't fucking understand.”

“It's both of your damn faults. You two are idiots.” Malia made a noise that sounded like a snarl. “He's not a liar or a cheater, dumb ass. Derek and Paige broke up last year and their divorce will probably be finalized within another month or so.”

“What?” Stiles stared off into the dark corner of his apartment. That was news to him. “Why? What happened?”

“Oh for-fuck sake-They grew part. People change, Stiles. They dated since high school and got engaged out of obligation, I guess.” Malia sounded sympathetic saying this, something Stiles rarely heard coming from her. “Technically, if you really want to focus on it...they are still married. However, they haven't lived together for a long time. And if you had let him explain all this, you might have save everyone this bull shit.”

“You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same exact thing I did if you found shit like that in someone's drawer. Fuck...” Though Stiles was now realizing that it was probably put there because Derek didn't want to see it himself. If he had just let Derek explain all this earlier... He slapped a hand over his face, feeling like a total idiot. Stiles wished that the couch would open up and eat him. That would be a welcoming turn of events for his night. “I'm an ass.”

“Yeah, but so is he,” Malia agreed. “You're both morons.”

“Thanks...” Stiles groaned loudly into the phone. “Anyway, it doesn't matter any more. He's probably never going to talk to me again.”

“Yeah, I don't know what he saw in you to try so hard.”

“Wow...thanks...Kick a guy when he'd down. I appreciate that.”

“Whatever,” Malia sounded done with this whole conversation and really, so was Stiles. She said a quick goodbye, but not before getting in another insult over his poor decision making, and hung up.

The phone in Stiles hand went silent. He dropped it to the couch cushion and continued to stare off into the darkness of his apartment. He felt like a total ass hole. There was no hope in hell that Derek would ever talk to him now, he was sure of that. All he wanted to do was apologize, but if he just showed up at the guy's door step, he'd just end up with it slammed in his face. The phone by his side lit up his apartment for a second from a received text before going black once more. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

Stiles left his phone where it lay on the couch and stood up. He moved over to the wall to flick on the lights. The tiny apartment was brought to life, mostly so he didn't knee anything in the process of moving through it. Stiles drew the curtains closed and stripped out of his flour covered jeans and flannel. He kept the t-shirt on because he was too lazy to find another one right then.

To fill the silence he turned his laptop on, left it propped up on the coffee table/tv stand/desk/everything table and threw a movie on. He didn't care what it was, pressing play on whatever the first suggested

movie Netflix gave him. It played through the opening credits as Stiles went to the kitchen. By the opening dialogue he could tell it was one of the Insidious movies. He'd seen them all many times before to recognize it. His opinion on them were – decent. So he wasn't running to change it.

Stiles ransacked his cupboards looking for something to eat. He ended up finding an old cup of instant noodles tucked towards the back. He put it in the microwave and stood there silently with his arms crossed while the timer ticked down by the second. After it went off, he grabbed a fork and the hot cup. Stiles went back to the couch and sat down. He dragged a nearby blanket over top his his bare thighs, getting a little chilly in just his boxers and shirt.

Despite being hungry, he became quickly uninterested by his food. He stabbed at it and could barely find it in himself to take more than two bites. He couldn't even focus on the movie. His eye kept looking over to his phone which lay next to him on the couch cushion, screen black and silent. His leg started to bounced restlessly for a few minutes.

Even if he did speak to Derek again, what was there to say...

Before he knew it, the movie was over and the instant noodles were left forgotten on the coffee table, long grown cold and congealed to the inside of the container. Stiles sat back, weight his life choices as he stared off into space. One the one hand, he could continue on with everything he'd been doing. He could go to work tomorrow morning and start yet another month of repetitive routine. Day in, day out. And every time he came home, his apartment would be dark and empty with nothing warm to greet him. Maybe he should get a cat...

On the other side of things, he could take a huge leap of faith, pick himself up and try – try to talk to an actually kind of sweet, newly single guy, who was totally hot and who was maybe-sorta into him. Is or was... Could be, maybe. Stiles frowned, doubting the likelihood of it but a part of him hoped there was some slim possibility Derek might be interested. He ran the risk of having a door closed in his face, but it was worth a shot. Right? Stiles told himself that it was.

Even with all his self-doubt, Stiles picked up his phone to check the time. It was late now but not ridiculously. Derek might still be up.

Stiles laid his head back into the couch and checked the one new text he had. It was from Malia, and when he opened it there was an unfamiliar phone number there. Looking at it for a long moment, Stiles realized that he must have been sent Derek's number. There was no one else's it could be.

Stiles moved his finger over the number, hesitantly hovering over the screen. Would Derek want to talk to him? Should he bother? Should he wait? It was late after all and the guy could be asleep. Stiles groaned, questioning everything.

He started to breathe faster, heart rate elevating from nerves and anticipation. Before he could second guess himself further or stop, he pressed on the phone screen and made the call. He held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring two, three times. It didn't even occur to him that he was literally hyperventilating into the phone. Maybe it would go to voicemail, or maybe he should hang up. The ring kept going. He twitched impatiently, nerves taking over. Stiles could feel his pulse in his ears and his body ran hot and clammy.

“Hello?” Came a confused and tired sounding voice on the other end. Stiles squeaked and almost threw his phone across the room.

Stiles looked at the phone in his hand, looked to the door, at any thing that could give him an idea of what to do now. Derek picking up had been a possibility and yet he was caught off guard. He didn't even think of what to say. _Shit!_ He was screwed.

“...Hello?” Derek asked again over the line. Before he had a chance to hang up Stiles blurted out,

“What's your favourite scary movie?” It was super rushed and kind of hoarse but hey, he said something. It didn't change the fact that Stiles wanted to die.

“Stiles?...” Derek sounded like he didn't believe it could be him.

“...hi...” he whispered back.

“Are you watching Scream?” Derek asked, finally picking up on the question Stiles just asked him.

Stiles too just noticed what he asked, remembering the quote and how that would have been incredibly appropriate right then. He did finish watching a scary movie after all, just not that one. Well, he kind of watched one. It was still a good catch on Derek's part and Stiles was impressed. He gave a light embarrassed laugh and relaxed back onto the couch.

He was amazed that he wasn't being hung up on or being told off yet. So, Stiles tried to calm down his own breathing and answered him, “No, but, that would have been funny. But, please don't tell me that's your answer. I might have to hang up on you.” He wouldn't actually. It was just a joke. On the other end of the line, Derek gave a relieved, breathy laugh back at him. Just hearing it made Stiles smile, his heart fluttering away.

With a little tug and a wiggle, he bundled up into the blanket, nesting on the couch. Phone still to his ear, he listened as Derek actually answered his questions and told him what his favourite horror movie was. His voice was more awake now but still hesitant and unsure why Stiles had spontaneously called him. But instead of explaining, Stiles spoke softly back, encouraging him to keep talking. There was time to explain everything later, hopefully in person. Maybe over coffee. Like a date. Stiles smiled to himself over the idea.

 

 

Months later, yes months, to Stiles' surprise. Literally, he had no idea how months had passed by already without him noticing. He'd been busy with work so much that the time seemed to fly by. Now it was well into March and spring was starting to rear its head after a long winter of cold winds and clouds. Northern California didn't snow in the winter time, but it still got cold.

The passed few weeks had been nothing but rain, soaking everything thoroughly and leaving a chilled dampness in the air. So as Stiles hurried himself between his parked jeep on the curb and the safety of the furniture shop a few feet away, his hair and sweater were soaked through. He pushed his way in the front doors and dramatically sighed with relief to be out of the rain again. Insides the shop was nice and dry, warm and pleasantly smelt like freshly cut wood and varnish. Stiles had no idea he loved the smell so much in his life until recently. Now it was the best thing in the world to him. It was a homey smell. He took a long breath of it in before shaking off some extra rain drops from his hands and wiping his face semi dry.

His hair was still dripping and he was leaving puddles as he walked toward the workshop at the back of the store. Stiles carried a take-out tray of coffee, two larges, both doctor's up with different preferred tastes. The other hand held a bag of powdered donuts.

As he reached the door to the workshop, he could hear a sander running, filling the area with a constant mechanical yet high-pitched drone. Stiles hooked his fingers over the latch to open the door but ended up just kicking it open. The sudden cloud of sawdust didn't bothering him too much as he entered, just tickled his nose a bit.

Off toward the back Derek had his back turned in Stiles' direction. His head was down, focused on what he was working on. There was no chance of seeing or hearing Stiles come in. He walked over to him anyway and got right up close behind him.

“Coffee delivery!” Stiles yelled out to be heard over the sander.

The tool was turned off reflexively and Derek whipped around to see Stiles standing there, drenched but smiling brightly. Derek's wide eyes of shock met his own. He laughed a little. Finding far too much amusement in scaring the guy.

“Coffee delivery,” he repeated, holding out the tray in offering.

“Jesus, Stiles, don't sneak up on me like that.” Derek let out a calming breath and stepped closer to him. “That could have been incredibly dangerous.” He took off his work gloves and shoving them under an arm before reaching for a cup of coffee with a free hand.

“You wouldn't have heard me. And I wasn't about to stand here until you finished, that could have taken forever.” It was an exaggeration, three or four minutes wasn't actually forever. He just didn't want to wait that long. Stiles put the tray aside so he could have his own coffee. “What are you working on anyway?” he asked eyeing the wood skeleton on the table.

“Uh... it'll be a.... bookshelf. Shelves... You know,” Derek muttered making weird hand gestures to box in an imaginary shape. He took a sip of the coffee and hummed his approval. “Thank you. It's good.”

Bless Derek and his two word sentences. Stiles smiled wide and shook his head. “Not a problem, big guy. But uh...where my tip? I came all this was with a hot coffee and donuts for you and I don't even get a tip? I'm drenched here.”

Derek stepped closer, leaning down to close to the distance between them. Their noses barely brushed as he tilted his head to the side. He looked Stiles in the eye and smirked sarcastically. “Remember an umbrella next time,” he said, then pressed their lips together in a very quick kiss. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Stiles glared at him jokingly, a light pout setting into place on his mouth. “A sexy drowned rat. Thank you very much,” he commented back and jabbed Derek in the ribs with a finger.

Derek laughed before happily kissing him once more. This time a real good, warming kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Happy Halloween!!


End file.
